There was a 13 year old student moving in a car with his friends laughing and enjoying the ride, the smiling face was turned into blood spilled innocence and still they call it a democracy..............TO HELL WITH YOUR DEMOCRACY. The dirges from inside a house confirm the address. In the garden of the house, the billowing vapors from a samovar merge with the dense autumn mist as group of women stand around. Some men squat; the grave-mud is still on their hands. A woman rushes towards the entrance and calls for a boy: Faisal where have you gone, as others rush towards her. Faisal Ahmad Bhat, an 8th standard student, who was shot dead along with his friend by the Indian army in Kashmir’s Chattergam on Monday, lies buried in a graveyard next to his house in Nowgam on the outskirts of summer capital Srinagar. The mourners take the woman inside the house. A man walks up and notes: “They kill 13 year olds, where is the justice.” Among the mourners are the teen’s friends. They stand in a group— distraught. Some of them speak in hushed tones and gaze at the media persons in the garden. A teenage friend of Faisal walks up to the group of journalist and says his friend was Hifz-e-Quran. “He remembered the entire Quran and was a devout Muslim. What was his fault,” he asks. The boys ask Faisal’s elder brother Muzaffar Ahmad Bhat to speak to the press. “They are media-persons, speak to them Muzaffar, says a youth. The anger on Muzaffar’s face is palpable. He starts to talk about the incident which has been narrated to him by the two injured youth who was travelling with his brother. “They had gone to see Shiite Muslim mourning on the auspicious day of Muharram, he says. His eyes are red. He argues that his brother along with three friends had stopped at the check post but a little ahead because the car didn’t have power breaks which help in stopping abruptly. “This isn’t the first such episode; they do it every time when elections are near and then order a probe which doesn’t yield anything,” he remarks. He rubbishes the probe ordered by the army. “They (army) are the judge, they are the culprits. What should we expect,” he asks. Like others, he pleads the media to write the truth as he returns to the house. The house of other slain youth Mehraj-u-din Ahmad Dar isn’t far away. He too lost his life to the volley of bullets that were showered at their car. A man tells us the directions to Mehraj’s house as the misty air is filled with teargas smoke. Angry youth have taken to streets and are fighting pitched battle with government forces. Some women in the garden of Faisal’s house move out and the press follows them. They stop near a small wooden door. A barrage of teargas-canister explosions breaks the conversations about the slain youth as they walk. The wailing from the house grows louder. A woman shouts for Mehraj and asks God about him. The press is invited inside the shabby house; its walls speak of the conditions the family lives in. Two men hold Lateef Ahmad, his elder brother, as they bring him inside a dark room. He is in a state of shock, unable to speak, yet his relatives and friend try to tell him to talk. “Don’t you want army men who killed your brother punished?” a mourner asks him. Yet he doesn’t speak, his face is like a slate. He holds his fist tight; it is an expression. He doesn’t speak.
Posted on: Tue, 04 Nov 2014 12:45:06 +0000
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